Such a fool was I, on those dark nights, listening to the cries of the wolves outside my door.

They could not be domesticated, my heart and soul was confiscated, now I am bitten to the core.

Then a person appeared in my window and they were full of delights:

“Do not listen to the wilderness of thought, I am here to keep you company on this cold, cold night.”

“Only thing I require is just a few drops of your blood, I mean you have an abundance, why it’s nearly a flood!”

So I let them drink from the vein closest to my heart, and the pain subsided with the thrill of purpose and pieces were glued together that were once apart.

As days grew to months and years I grew sick and weary of their promises and tales of the world outside my chambers, they refused to let me join in the internal life I sought, but they made use of every stolen hour they had bought.

Finally one night they stayed far longer than usual, almost to the rising of the new day’s sun:

“This is it for you I’m afraid to say, there is not one drop left I need, today is the day.”

I puffed up proud as I could, starved and angry at the wait, but the next part proved a dire fate.

“For you see today I will leave you to burn, you silly man, who wanted to let us feed, do you finally now understand?

I never wanted your company, never wanted your presence near mine, I just wanted to quench my need for blood and now its almost time.

You will be reborn then I will burn you, such a stupid plaything that you are, you said you desired light in your life so I’ve given you this burning star.

Take your mortal coil, make it rattle fine, excuse the smile on my blood soaked lips, you really thought you were mine.”

So he leaped from the window down to the snow covered ground, after that I heard not a sound.

Too weak to move because of the draining, to save my own skin I now was straining.

Finally exhausted I just watched as the sun rose over the hills, bringing a light of promise to those without ills, finally relaxed as I started to feel the burn, for some of us there are balanced relations, the rest of us may never learn.

Calm washed over me as I watched my body burn and wither, a victim of the gullibility to not be alone, everyday wants that never came hither.

Peace, at last, this was now, no worries, problems, or debates, for some of us can climb the steps to solace, but for some of us, who try to draw love from stones, it is much too late.

Like this:

Basic story idea from this Writing Prompt, opinions, advice, and comments gratefully taken and desired.

Henry balled up both his fists again, the tight olive green t-shirt straining at the mass of his upper arm as he started his swinging motion, the same kind of T-shirt he told Cynthia he used to wear during basic training.

Thwack, thwack, boom!

Cynthia felt the pain explode in her head as she fell onto the kitchen floor, her hands shielding her head as she went into a fetal position. Cynthia’s right hand felt around her temple and her fingers slid into something wet and slightly warm, like some soup left in a pot that had to be reheated before it could be served.

Her eyes were closed but Cynthia could hear Henry take a step closer in his steel toe work boots. There was a minute moment of perfect silence, a muttering of what might have been the word: ‘Bitch,’ and then the pain and the blood from her now throbbing head was quickly forgotten as a worse pain exploded in her stomach and all the air was forced out of her lungs.

It was as if one pain outranked the other and told it who was in charge when it came to the pain game.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think of it in the comment section:

“No good will come of this you know”

“I know…”

The couple stood over the dead body, staring down at the lifeless form at their feet. The Body was still fresh, the eyes open and accusing, the hollow stare that will one day happen to all of us when the soul vacates it’s shell.

“So what do we do now?” She asked.

“I guess we bury it, try to make sure she does not see it before she gets up.”

She looked at her watch, then up at the bedroom window on the second floor of the house.

However, I messed it up, kind of forgot about it and then still wanted to at least show there was something there, even it was written in about two hours.

Following my post is links to the other entries for July…

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Stan & His Wife:

Stan could not believe it.

There they were, arguing out in public like they usually would do after a few drinks, middle of the night on another rainy Saturday, one where the streetlights made the rain puddles in the parking lot seem like small lakes made of liquid silver.

I am pleased to announce that I will play a large part in both the creation of content and the editing of the content on Cult Britannia.co.uk. I feel fortunate and excited about this opportunity to spread out from the Doctor Who and get the experience of working with other writer’s content and doing a little editing.

So far things have gone well as far as recruiting writers for reviews and articles on all things UK Sci-Fi, horror and all other f0rms of media that fall under the umbrella of “cult”.

If you yourself have a submission or would like to write for Cult Britannia, please drop me a line at this email: